This Thing Goin' On
by Jehilew
Summary: "I mean, I want a sort of friends with benefits type thing, nothing serious, but no one night stands. I know you reasonably well, and you're a pretty good looking guy, and, well, you seem like you'd know what you're doing, and that's what I want." **Read if you'd like, but this is under some construction!**
1. Chapter 1

I'm not real certain when I'd made my decision, but it seemed like a perfectly natural inevitability. _Of course_ I'm was going to have sex with a certain handsome, red-eyed Cajun. _Of course_. It just took a while for this realization to slap me in the face, and then I had to screw up my courage to make it happen.

What? You think this is going to be an easy thing for me to do, just because I'm a hot, horny, twenty-one year old virgin who just so happens to know a gorgeous man-whore like Gambit? Well, it's not going to be that simple, you see. One, I still have my power, it still sucks, and I still have like, less than zero control over it. Two, Gambit, like everyone else, is a bit skittish of said power. I mean, who can blame him? At its worst, my skin can kill you. At its best, it'll merely leave you incapacitated for a time, but pretty much rape your soul-I'll take your memories, your emotions, your thoughts, even your personality, and worse yet, I'll keep it with me forever. People like Gambit don't give a shit about the dying part, it's the soul-stealing part that pulls 'em up. Think about it. He spent his childhood on the streets doing God only knows what to survive, and then was adopted into a crime syndicate and polished into a professional criminal, you think he wants me knowing anymore about his past than I already do?

Anyway, three, I ain't after a one night stand. No, I'm not looking for a romantic relationship with him (or anyone, really), more of a friends with benefits type situation. I don't think it's terribly fair to get romantically involved with anyone without first controlling my power and growing a bit more into myself, so casual is cool. I'm just not interested in a series of one night stands, I'd rather go for a guy I know, one I'm comfortable with, and for God's sake, one who knows what he's doing. Which makes Gambit nearly perfect, except that he's definitely one night stand material, unless the sex is good enough to keep him interested. Which brings me to four, that man isn't exactly having a hard time getting laid, and he'll take a chick with experience and who knows how to keep up with him over one with none of that. Further, I know I ain't the hottest chick he knows, has known, or will know, so there's the possibility he'll just consider sex with me a total pain in the ass.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not down on myself. I'm just stating facts and owning my own nervousness here. Especially since I'm like, thisclose to approaching him. As we speak, I'm at a club, and I've just spotted him at the bar. I don't think he's noticed me yet, since he's got a couple of attractive women vying for his attention. I pause for a moment, chewing my lip. Both women are quite beautiful, both tall, curvacious types, one with wavy blond hair and honey-kissed skin, the other with a chocolate and cream pie coloring. Both have their impressive figures on display, with lots of cleavage, a bit of midriff showing, and jeans that perfectly flaunted curvy hips and long legs. Both women were flirting and having a good time, postures and expressions making a clear invitation to the ridiculously good looking Cajun who was eating it all up.

That's what I'm up against, y'all. I mean, I look damn good, and I know it, but those two, especially the brunette, blow me out of the water. Again, not down on myself, just stating facts. Where those women are tall and lush of breast, hip, and thigh, I'm of average height, with a figure honed by long hours of combat training, gym workouts, and careful eating. Sure, I've got some hips and boobs, but my rather intense, physical occupation keeps those curves trim and tight rather than full and soft. Where their clothing is showing off tons of perfect skin, mine shows practically none out of necessity, and looks perhaps prudish in comparison (I personally don't think so, but he's definitely one of those who thinks less is best when it comes to women and their clothes). Where their faces are model-perfect, with flawless make up, and smooth, perfect complexions, mine is an odd mix of sharp angles and soft features, nearly bare faced (save the smudged black liner and mascara), and chapped lips that I attempted to smooth over with red tinted chapstick. In other words, not flawless and smooth, guys.

Anyway, whatever. It's now or nothing, I'm not giving him a chance to slip off with either (or both, who knows?) woman tonight. And damn, that man looks good. I really could just lick him up. Tonight, he's wearing a dark violet button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tucked into dark jeans, and finished off with a black belt and black shoes. Everything is fitted and shows off his long, lean body to perfection. Of course, Gambit could wear a potato sack and still look like sex on legs, he's just that fucking hot.

I saunter casually over to the bar, a couple of stools away from him, give him a smirk and a wave. He acknowledges me with an easy grin and nod. I then proceed to ignore him in favor of ordering a shot. All I needed to do was let him know I'm here, he'll come talk to me soon enough. Besides, I know it's a losing game, trying to worm my way in amongst the competition on either arm right now; better to get him alone.

After taking my shot of rum, I readily took the first cute guy's invitation to dance, leaving the girls to enjoy Gambit a bit longer. I smile up at the guy I'm dancing with, a good looking Mexican with curly hair and friendly eyes. He smiles back, maybe thinking he might have scored.

Sure enough, two songs, and another dance partner later, I feel a hand slide over my hip, pulling me back against a tall, hard body. A whiff of cigarettes, whiskey, and expensive cologne hit my nose, and I smile. "Gambit."

"Cherie. Haven't seen you in a while, where you been hidin'?"

I can't help the little shiver up my spine at the sound of his voice in my ear as we start dancing. At an earlier time, I would've denied that little zip of pleasure ever happened, but given my mission tonight, I revel in it. "Had a rough coupla months, so was kinda layin' low for a bit. What about you? You've been quiet lately, too."

"Mm-hmm. I been here and there, stayin' busy. Mostly out of town. Since when you start comin' out to play? Ain't never seen you out."

I shrug. "Like I said, rough coupla months, figured I needed a bit of fun."

"Hmmm." His hand slides up my hip, skips over the inch or so of exposed skin at my midriff, and traces up the flare of my ribs.

We finish up the song in silence, mostly because the noise was loud enough to make hearing difficult. After the song was through, he turned me to face him. "Lemme me buy ya a drink, chere. Can't talk out here, anyway."

I nod, allowing him to grab my hand and pull me through the crowd to the bar. After we got our drinks, he looks over at me. "You look good, cherie. 'Specially for someone who had it rough for a spell."

I acknowledge the compliment with a small smile. "While you were havin' fun down in New Orleans, I took out Apocalypse," I reply, taking a drink of my beer.

He just watches me, those bright eyes flaring. "Took on Apocalypse, huh?" He lights up a cigarette, never looking away from me. "Always knew you was a bad bitch, chere."

I snort at him, well aware that he wasn't answering my unasked question about what happened down in New Orleans after I left him there. "You don't even know the half of it, Cajun." I decide to needle him a bit. "How's ya daddy doin'?"

He grunts, taking another drag off his cigeratte. "Same as always. Not interested in me so far as he needs me." He slides me an appraising look, eying me up for a second. "Damn near married me off."

I splutter for a minute. That was unexpected, and just might fuck up my plans with him. He patiently waits for me to regain my wits, an amused expression on his face. "Is that so?" I finally manage.

"Yup."

"So, 'damn near' means he wasn't successful, right?" I ask him carefully. I wasn't aware of any love interest in his life when I'd left him down in New Orleans, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

He snorts. "Yeah. But dodgin' that bullet cost me." He cocks his head and gives me a thoughtful look. "Sorry I kidnapped ya back then, cherie."

Surprised at his sudden change of topic, I blink at him. "You are?"

He shrugs. "Well, sorry for usin' ya, anyway. It was a wasted effort on my end." His lip twitches. "Not sorry for sweepin' ya off your feet and forcin' ya to enjoy yourself and my company for a time, though."

I roll my eyes at him. "That's a sorry-not-sorry if I ever heard one." He opens his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. "But listen, that ain't neither here nor there, and it ain't what I want to talk about."

His turn to blink owlishly at me.

I take a deep breath and a long swig of my beer, and then turn on my stool to face him. "See, I got this thing goin' on, and I want your help. You know I still can't control my power, right?" At his nod, I continue, "well, it ain't lookin' too good right now."

I pause, taking another drink. He's quiet, waiting for me to spit it all out. "Thing is, I'm kinda tired of doin' things the way I've been doin' 'em, I want change." I can already feel the flames all over my face now. Cursing my fair complexion, I'm fairly certain there is no possible way that I could turn any redder.

He takes another drag off his cigarette, his eyes never leaving me. "A'right. So what kind of changes you want, and what I got to do with 'em?"

Oh, I was so wrong. I turn redder. Sometimes, I really hate being a redhead. "Uh, well, sex."

He stares at me, lips twitching in amusement. "You want me for sex."

Shit, even my neck is red at this point. "Yeah. I want sex, and I'd kinda like you to help me with that." To my horror, before he could say anything, I start rambling. "I mean, I want a sort of friends with benefits type thing, nothing serious, but no one night stands. I know you reasonably well, and you're a pretty good looking guy, and, well, you seem like you'd know what you're doing, and that's what I want. Not that I expect anything from you or whatever, I promise I'm not gonna be clingy, I just want some experience, and I want it to be good, so..." I let my voice trail off, feeling a sort of pained expression settle over my features. I did say this wasn't going to be easy, didn't I?

He's silent for a moment, then he cocks his head to the side, a slow grin stretching his mouth. God, his arrogance is unreal, and staring at that mouth is doing unreal things to my insides, and would he just say yes or no already?


	2. Chapter 2

**Forgot to mention ages and time frames. Rogue's 21 here, because I wanted them to ever-so-predictably meet at a bar. Remy's somewhere in his early 20's. To keep in line with the cartoon storyline, I'll just say that Rogue has lead such a life that she was held back a couple of years, putting her at 20 as a senior, when Remy whisked her off to NOLA. This takes place some months after Rogue slaps down Apocalypse.  
**

* * *

"Well?" Of course I'm snapping at him. Because seriously, who does he think he is anyway, leaving me hanging with that stupid grin? You know what grin I'm talking about. The one that's given him a smooth pass into god only knows how many pairs of panties. The one that makes me want to either kiss or scratch it off his beautiful face, I never can decide.

"Now, you know I ain't never been one to turn down a good thing when I see it," he finally replies in that smoke roughened yat of his.

"Pft. Naw, you'd steal it first." Relief, y'all. I'm feeling it. The hard part's over. Not that I really thought he'd shoot me down, but I bet even _he_ ain't immune to possible-rejection-jitters, ya know?

"Gotta admit, didn't see that one comin', chere," he says, giving me a curious look as he takes a drink. "You sure you want it like this?"

He's warning me, telling me that even if I change my mind on the whole no expectations thing, he won't. Well, no shit, son, that's one of the reasons why I picked you. "You trying to talk me out of it?"

"Non. Just with that power of yours, I know touch ain't no triflin' matter. Figured you'd want it all special and meaningful and shit, is all."

Aww. Such a sweetheart. Eye roll. "Nah, not necessary. I mean, if I was looking to start dating someone, sure, but that ain't happening til I get my power under control. Who knows when that'll be, and I don't feel like waiting on it."

"Well, far be it for me to keep you waitin', then." There's that smile again. I've decided that this time, I'd rather kiss it off. Or bite it off? Decisions, decisions, especially when there's no decisions to be made, since I can't do either. Which is a damn shame, seeing as how those lips really do look capable of doing some wicked things.

"Fantastic. You ready?" _Doh!_ Now, that was smooth... Eh, whatever. I've never been known for finesse.

Surprise flickers within those odd eyes, and he smiles again. "Always cut to the chase, don't you, girl? That's a'right, always did like a woman who knows what she wants."

While he tabs out, I fire off a text to my two best friends, Wanda and Kitty, telling them I'm leaving with Gambit. Yep, you read that right. Me, Wanda, and Kitty are, like, the Three Musketeers. You see, I've never really taken issue with the Brotherhood, I mean, other than thinking Fred was obnoxious, Tolanski smelled, Lance was a loser, and Pietro was an ass. And Wanda? She's cool as fuck. She was actually buddies with Kitty first, who got to know her while dating Lance. After Mystique and Magneto were out of the picture, Wanda started dating the former Acolyte, John, who introduced Peter to Kitty, and we all just started hanging out. As it happens, John and Peter are still chummy with Gambit, and whenever he rolls in town, they usually get together and man-bond over the usual shit that men do.

Anyway, long story short, me, Wanda, and Kitty had decided to do a girls' night out while the guys did their manly things, and what do ya know, it's nearly 1 AM, and I spot Gambit at the bar, I guess having ditched the other boys to head out and score. I would've preferred a more controlled situation, like, I don't know, not in a loud as fuck club, with me going at it completely unprepared and on the fly, but whatever. It's all working out the way I want it to, so I won't complain. You don't even begin to know how difficult it can be to catch the devil-eyed stud; I've run into him on a couple of occasions, but only in passing, and certainly never in a situation even remotely appropriate for a sexual proposition.

Oh, and yeah, my girls know all about my decision to hook up with Gambit. They think it's a positively delicious idea, though Kitty seems to think we're going to get together, get married, and have all the babies or whatever. Then again, she's holding onto the notion that she and Peter, and Wanda and John will do the same thing, and we'll all just be this group of married, mutant domesticates together in the suburbs together. Bless her heart, she's so cute, I love her.

Wanda texts me a thumbs up, followed by Kitty's big, smiley face emoji. Grinning, I put my phone in my purse and slide off my stool just as Gambit places his hand in the small of my back, and we walk on out of the club.

One thing I should mention. Yes, I'm 100% excited about what's going to happen at his place, but I'm probably just as excited about getting there. Why, you ask? This guy has a sweet bike, and I've been itching to ride it since I first saw it. Now, granted, I'd never thought about riding it with him, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, and besides, what's there to complain about having a gorgeous sex god between your legs?

Twenty minutes or so later, we arrive at his apartment building. I'm not in the least bit surprised that it's in a nice area; in the limited time that I've been around him, I've never known Gambit to pinch pennies. Because, well, the man is loaded.

"My humble abode," he says with a grand gesture of one hand as we enter his apartment, guiding me inside with his other hand on my hip.

"It's nice," I reply, giving his place a quick glance over. Actually, it's fantastic, everything all opened up in one large space, and toward the back is obviously his bedroom. Apparently, he's into the urban/industrial look. It suits him, I think as I pause in the living room to drop my purse on the couch and shrug out of my leather jacket.

"You should see the bedroom. 'Specially the bed," he responds with a leer, turning around to face me. He takes my hands, pulls me in, and brings my arms up around his neck. He leans in a bit, giving me that devil's smile, and I get goosebumps. His lips are so close to mine, I can taste his breath, I can feel the heat off his skin, hell, I can almost _feel_ him kissing me...

Aaaaand I freeze.

You have to understand, I haven't touched anyone, _anyone,_ without consequence in seven years. _Seven. Years._ And many of those consequences came with some pretty nasty shit. As much as I want this, touch isn't something that comes easily or naturally for me anymore, it's scary, it's alien, and even just him getting in my space like this is making me uncomfortable. Okay, panicky. I might be having problems breathing right now.

He pauses, his fingers lightly tracing the back of mine. "Relax, chere. Ain't nothin' gonna happen that you don't want to." His hands whisper down my arms to to top of my opera-length, black nylon gloves, and then down and around my ribs to rest in the small of my back. "Trust me, eh?"

Of course he knows what I'm hung up on, he's seen me come completely unglued after absorbing someone, and I'm pretty sure I'm drowning him with my sudden anxiety.

Trying to pull myself back together, I lightly rub the nape of his neck with my fingers as I smirk up at him. "Hm. Just remember, I don't have any use for you in coma, swamp rat."

His mouth twists up into this gorgeous grin that makes those elusive dimples appear. "Swamp rat? Naw, chere; call me Remy."

I give him a small, though real, smile at that, and I can feel myself relax a smidge. "Please me good enough, and I might."

He gives a throaty chuckle as he drops his face to just below my ear, maneuvering my hair between my skin and his lips so he can kiss me. "I think I might be able to manage that," he purrs in such a voice that I only _thought_ I had goosebumps before as he starts backing up to his room, the light pressure of his hand on my back, the other on my hip, bringing me with him.

Once in his room, he leans in, carefully kissing along the curve of my shoulder through my hair as he continues backing up, pulling me with him til the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed. He stops, but that's when his hands and lips really start, the former sliding more possessively over my back and hips, while his mouth ghosts along the line of my throat to my shoulder, close enough at times that I can actually feel the faint scratch of his stubble on my skin.

I have to say, despite my nervousness, I'm really getting heated up and into this. His hands truly are amazing, the kissing-not-kissing is pretty much setting my skin on fire, and honestly, I'm getting to the point where I _really_ just want him to hurry up and get to the main event. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, all the fantasies I've played out with his psyche (hey, don't act, you'd do it, too) are foreplay enough. Not to mention all this touchy-feely stuff is opening up more opportunities for accidents, if you catch my drift. Only thing is, while I'm one hundred percent sure he won't mind a bit, I really don't know how to get what I want across without doing something utterly ridiculous, like saying, _ooooh, baby, you make me so hot, give it to me now!_ or something. Don't laugh; when I get nervous, I have a tendency to say stupid shit, and I'm a nervous wreck right now.

Before I can make an ass out of myself with words, I tangle a hand up in his hair, give it light tug, and send my other hand down his torso to pull out his shirt. Surely he'll get the hint, right? For good measure (and just because I want to), I push that hand up over his leanly muscled hip and ribs, shoving his shirt up. I might've just ripped out a button or two. Oops.

"Mmm, my kinda girl, you," he growls hotly against my throat, lightly scraping the skin with is teeth. I'm not kidding, he actually just growled, and hot damn, don't mind me, I'll just be over here busy melting into a useless puddle now, 'kay?

Meanwhile, he yanks his shirt up over his head, tosses it aside, and quickly he dips his face just over my breasts, his teeth catching the zipper running down the front of my dress, pulling it down to bare everything clear to my navel as he sits on the edge of the bed. Grabbing my hips, he pulls me in between his legs, those odd eyes of his firing up as they pass over my rather impressive rack. _So_ glad I'd decided to stuff the girls into that red, lace push up number tonight. Obviously, I wasn't looking to get laid when I did it, but when a girl has a sexy, front-zippered, little black dress that fits like a second glove and shows off some boobage, why the hell not, right?

And thank god I'd seen fit to wear those uncomfortable thigh-highs, too, because Gambit seriously has got the most delicious looking chest and shoulders I ever did see, and as I run my hands over his shoulders, I think that if his top half is any indication of what his bottom half is like, I want that man as naked as I can safely have him.

He burns a trail of almost-kisses across my abdomen, and and suddenly, it's getting to be a bit too much. It's all just a sensory overload, and I just can't even deal with it anymore. I flinch away from him as I catch my breath in my throat, and he just looks up at me with that insufferable smirk of his. "Ticklish, chere?" He breathes over that particularly sensitive spot just below my ribcage again.

I flinch again and scowl at him, which only makes him laugh as he grabs my waist with both hands and tosses me into the bed, immediately climbing over me. Swallowing nervously, I watch him as his fingers and lips skim up along the inside of my calf and up my thigh, shoving my dress up to reveal the red panties that match my bra. He pulls back and stares for a moment, eyes burning, fingers stroking up to the edge of my stocking, and then he leans in, mouth rattling off something in French along the inside of my thigh, on up to-"oh. Oh! _Ooooh!"_

Oh, god, does that guy have a mouth on him, who would've thought it'd feel so good over panties? Holy shit, I'm seeing stars...

Afterward, while I'm still seeing fireworks and feeling like a quivering mass of stupid-happy, Gambit snatches a condom out of his nightstand, opens up his jeans and quickly suits up before coming back to me.

"Fucking Christ, girl, you taste good," he rasps against my ear, fingers slipping south to carefully pull my panties aside, making way for-oh, hello! He starts out slowly, no doubt trying to make this as painless as possible for me, but lucky for the both of us, it ain't necessary _._ What? You really think dildos never occurred to me? Please. I've got a whole sex shop's worth of toys stashed away in my room at the mansion. No way losing my virginity was going to be a painful ordeal.

"Oh, my god," I breathe out as he picks up the pace. My stars, it's incredible, ain't no vibrator ever been like this. Just the combination of his body over mine, the smell of him, the heat off of him, and the way his eyes are excitedly watching our bodies moving is erotic enough, but Jesus, this guy sure knows how to hit the spot.

"Rogue, c'mon, girl. C'mon, _dieu_ , you're...you're so...fuck," he grits out a curse, watching himself reach down to maneuver my panties over a bit to protect his bare fingers, and he starts rubbing me over the edge.

I'm pretty sure my eyes just rolled up in the back of my head, because Jesus tap dancing Christ on a cracker, this is, this is-oh god, his skin, his skin is so hot against mine, and _mon dieu_ , she's so fucking _hot,_ and her skin is so fucking soft, and-"ohmygod, ohmygod, _oh my god, MON DIEU, YES!_ "

Holy... That was... That was...

Aw _shit_. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Gambit's body is limp with unconsciousness, and I immediately shove him off of me. And me, well, I've now got a raging storm of that man's memories, his sexuality, his thoughts, his senses, and his pleasure flooding mine, slamming against the confines of my mind, bringing me to another rise in arousal.

Shaking, terrified that the contact had been too long, I frantically check for a pulse, very much relieved to find one. Utterly devastated at the thought of how easily this could've been so much worse, all I can do is stare down at him, and dammit, I'm about to cry. What the hell is wrong with me? _Why_ did I think that I could do this? I _knew_ this would happen, I _knew_ it.

So yeah. My first time, it was amazing. Good thing, too, because I'm pretty sure I'm SOL in the sex department now til I get my power under control, because let's be real, Gambit probably ain't comin' back after this, and I ain't got anyone lining up after him for a go at it.

"So much for nothing I don't want to happen not happenin', huh, sugar?" I ask the unconscious man laid out beside me.

Stupid, effin' power, anyways.

* * *

 **C'mon, now, don't hate me for that ending to this chapter! They can't _always_ get it right the first go trying to get around her power:)  
**


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